𝗦𝗢𝗨𝗞𝗢𝗞𝗨 𝗦𝗛𝗢𝗧𝗦

It's Not Like I...

It had been two months since Dazai left the mafia. At least, that's how long it was the last time he checked his calendar. He's laid in bed for what's felt like eternity, unable to even sleep or have his brain silenced.

His pills— 'tranquility pills' as he calls them— have long since ran out and he's very much incapable of walking to the pharmacy to get some. Or from a drug dealer. Or do anything that isn't breathing and lying in bed like a corpse.

He doesn't remember the last time he ate, the last time he slept, the last time he'd even seen a person or went outside these days— or has it been weeks?

...He's developed a faulty perception of time nowadays.

Dazai isn't stupid, he knows he has depression— one might call it 'crippling depression' even. He knows he needs help, he knows he should get help but he doesn't think the patient-doctor/therapist confidentiality needs to be upheld when he talks about how he's murdered at least two hundred people in the last miserable and meaningless years of his life.

Two more years of this.

The thoughts in his head pop up, disappear, come again and stay for at least a moment or more, then disappears again. His brain is running a marathon and maybe that's where Dazai's life force and energy has been sent off to; helping his brain working itself to exhaustion.

It would be a shame if that happened, considering the only good thing about him is his brain and intelligence.

He thinks about how mundane life has been, but that can be blamed on his unwillingness to go outside.

Dazai can't even tell if he's blinking or have blinked, no sense of feeling in his body paired with the pitch black darkness of his room.

He considers opening his window and getting the attention of everybody outside, only to commit a horrifying suicide that would traumatize every single one of them. Voices in his head yelling and screaming inhumane thoughts into his head and he vaguely wonders if those are what people call intrusive thoughts.

He thinks back to when he was actually worth something, even if it meant only to others.

To Mori, he was a prodigy. The future boss of the Port Mafia.

To the Port Mafia, he was a black wraith who haunted the Earth with no mercy for those who wrongfully opposed him.

To his enemies, he was a demon, the devil as some would even say. A monster, one that left corpses, death and misery in it's path.

To him, he meant nothing at all. In his eyes, he wasn't even a speck in the vast universe. He was worthless, he is worthless. No longer human, funnily enough.

...To Odasaku, he was a person that could live his dream. He could fulfill his dying wish, save those good and be a good man.

Port Mafia. A voice in his head says.

Isn't there one person we always thought of when we thought of the mafia?

Of course there was.

Suddenly, his brain is like a car without brakes. Unable to stop, it's only purpose left to do now is to keep going, faster and faster.

It's like he's falling down in an endless void at the speed of light, seeing no end.

How do you think he's doing?

How do you think he feels?

You must feel horrible.

You're terrible.

If only you were like him.

He wonders what that voice means. It disappears completely after saying that, like who exactly?

Mori so he could have no regard for what people feel?

Odasaku, so he could feel empathy and emotional?

Ango, to be able to betray people so easily?

Chuuya, to be human?

That's exactly it.

Is he human, though?

Hunt Ango down and kill him.

Kill Mori.

Kill yourself.

Images of dead bodies of people he knows flash before his eyes, Odasaku on the ground and his own bloody hand stained with Odasaku's blood, the scene of Ango's dead body with an imprint of two hands around his neck, Mori with a hole in his head and Chuuya's painful doom from Corruption.

Corruption.

Why were we so captivated with Chuuya?

We don't deserve to say his name.

Were we drawn in by his power, his character, his loyalty? Which was it?

Was it the beauty of his ability?

Was it his humanity, despite the evidence supporting the fact he isn't human at all?

Was it just him?

His brain has been hacked by Chuuya's face, his voice and his laughter, the vibrant colors of his hair and eyes and him fighting. He never needed Chuuya before, so why would he need him now?

He was doing just fine alone.

He's doing just swell in his little dark cave.

Dazai almost expects someone to knock on his door and drag him out of the self-pitying mess he's stuck in, but he knows he's stupid for thinking so.

He doesn't feel guilty for leaving the Port Mafia, not at all. He left an abusive environment to go on to become a better person— a good person who saves and helps those who need it.

But he does feel guilty about leaving his partner.

Part of the guilt stems from the fact he has helped Dazai so much— he was a reason to live, he is worth living for. He was saved by him when he was in his worst and yet, he can't find it in himself to return and say sorry.

He owes it to Chuuya. That's why he feels this way.

This warmth in his chest is all because of Chuuya, and he's never felt this shitty about it before. He feels so fucking shitty about Chuuya that it physically and mentally hurts. He wants to scream but he can't even open his mouth— and even if he could, he wouldn't be able to utter a word with his dried throat.

Something he's never felt before, something he has no idea or knowledge of.

The hot and painful feeling he gets when he thinks of Chuuya, the burst of energy and dopamines when he hears him laugh and hear his voice— It couldn't be anything but...

It's not like he...

...

A funny headcanon I have is Dazai found out he loves Chuuya while he was having a depressive episode. relatable, amirite!? 🤣 wonder what little Chuu-kun is doing rn while Dazai drowns in sorrow 🤔